Constant-less Variables
by Argudas
Summary: AU partially inspired by early game footage. Columbia, once heralded as the future of American democracy, disappeared to chart its own course. What is the girl imprisoned at the center of it all and what do her powers portend? And what is the man rescuing her really after?


**_Disclaimer: _**I do not own any part of the Bioshock franchise. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, now would I?

**_Author's_ Notes:** I loved Bioshock Infinite. The characters and setting were fun and the story kept you thinking. But in the end there were some things I couldn't overlook. Too many arbitrary plot choices and some plot holes. I looked back at some of the older footage and realized that this older Columbia seemed a very different place. One that was less a theocracy and more a small amalgamation of parts of the American psyche, albeit with a likely focus on the more negative aspects. From there I looked back at Rapture and thought how, despite everything wrong with that society, there was still some good ideas to admire and lessons to be learned. Columbia, on the other hand, has very little going for it. What good parts there are in Columbian society could all be found somewhere else in the world.

I looked at other fanfics written for Bioshock on this site and found I liked the ones that sought to differ from the game as much as possible the most enjoyable as a rule. But none of them were quite aiming at what I hoped to see. I dreamed of a Columbia that was still recognizable as the city from the game, but far less one note. Find some good, give the city a tragic tale instead of a racist haven designed to take away all guilt when slaughtering all in your way. I hesitate to call this a more 'realistic' story seeing as we are still dealing with a city flying using quantum superposition or something, but I'd like to think it is.

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><p><strong>The Bird in the Cage<strong>

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><p>The warm light of the afternoon sun roused Elizabeth from her repose. With a cavernous yawn she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. The room slowly faded into view. Bookshelves lined every inch of the library walls, their shelves stocked with tomes on every topic from biology to philosophy to quantum physics. A number of reading couches were scattered around the room, ensuring she never had to go far when the urge to lose herself in the book in hand took her. Said couches, and indeed the floor itself, were host to a wide array of books in various states of completion. The bundle of papers resting on her lap was a sampling of political treatises on governance, the majority drawn from The Leviathan. Even with her broad range of interests in lighter subjects, Elizabeth often found herself drawn to the works of those who mused on the governance of the masses. Perhaps her view of the people from above made treatises that kept the common man at a distancing more appealing, numbers on a page from which she was forever separated.<p>

Now refreshed as ever, she placed the papers on a side table, rose from her couch, and strolled to the massive window which dominated the room. Seeing as it was, in fact, the only window in her suite of rooms it was little surprise that she had spent untold days, nay years, staring out this very window in her life of confinement in the tower. The view of Columbia sprawled out below was as marvelous as ever. Dozens of floating platforms of all shapes and sizes passed beneath her in their daily dance, connecting and disconnecting like clockwork in a manner reminiscent of the fine ladies and lords from a century gone by she had read about in a number of books. Her tower appeared to be the one constant in the city, the star around which the planets orbited. In the air above the masquerade floated an armada of colorful blimps decked out in streamers. They darted in and out of the dance below, like butlers or servants bringing refreshment to the great lords and ladies.

A trio of dirigibles drifted in a lazy circle above a number of people gathered around a brightly decorated stage not that far away from her tower. The craft were swathed in huge canvases portraying stylized likenesses of several different men. One of the faces appeared rather old with a large white beard, and a generous allotment of equally white hair, and piercing eyes. Another was a balding man with short, bristled gray hair and squinted eyes. This image had a "Reelect" banner hung beneath. The third bore the likeness of a middle aged man with well groomed hair and a hard, green-eyed gaze. Elizabeth couldn't say who any of them were for sure, seeing as she was never given any information on current events in Columbia, but she knew politicking of some nature was afoot. With a slight roll of the eyes she looked skyward again, noticing a blimp that even at this distance was clearly larger than the others it shared the blue expanse with that appeared to be headed in her direction. But Elizabeth knew better than to expect anything. It would likely be diverting course any second now as tourist zeppelins were want to do.

At this point of the day she was able to just make out the distant smokestacks of a factory belching fumes into the air, though today they seemed far more active than normal, belching ten times the smoke as usual into the sky. If she really squinted, or used her telescope, she could make out the giant letters below the smokestacks gaudily declaring who owned the complex to the world. Elizabeth always chuckled to herself when she saw that sight. While it was pure conjecture, she couldn't imagine anyone who had spent more than a minute in Columbia wouldn't know who Fink was. Even she knew he had to be someone important based on how omnipresent his name was. More than a few items in her suite bore his name. Every time she chuckled at this sight she sighed at the fact that she had laughed. The fact that this same, nearly daily, observation was still enough to evoke any kind of emotional response on her part was truly terrifying.

Before her solitary mind could once again tread that well-worn train of thought, she shook her head and tried to spot the other landmarks she expected at this time of day. Besides Fink's factory, the dominant structure was a grand house, for surely that is what is had to be, without equal in Columbia, at least as far as she knew. The building was imposing, its edges sharp and square, giving the faint impression that all the other houses, shops, and other quarters of Columbia were out of focus. Elizabeth had spent a great deal of time in the past trying to identify the architectural style used in its construction. It shared a passing resemblance to the pictures of the American capitol building; the silhouette certainly was similar. But this building had taken out what little gaudiness remained from Greek and Roman forbears and left not a single visible decoration. The stark white of the marble construct striking a balance somewhere between a prison and...a cathedral perhaps? Elizabeth couldn't say for sure. Additionally, this building was topped not by a dome, but by a stubby gilded pyramid, reflecting the light of the afternoon sun with an intensity that was almost painful to behold. Often she had wondered who lived there and if she herself would ever get to visit. If she ever left her tower.

There was a beach, or at least that's what her books had called it, floating off to the right of her field of view. Back when she first received her telescope she had frequently turned her gaze towards the sandy expanse. It was a habit she quickly dropped as the sights were too much to bear. Lovers, some in their prime and others closer to their inevitable meeting with the grim reaper, frequented the area, wrapped in each other's arms in the shade of an umbrella as the waves lapped at their feat. Worse still were the young children played for hours, building grand fortresses which fell to the first wave, or foot, they encountered. Eventually the children were corralled by their parents and herded away. The smallest as often as not leaving in the arms of their parent as the shadows of evening lengthened.

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously and reached for a nearby switch which sent metal shutters screaming closed, blocking the window and turning on interior lights automatically. She new turning away from the view was cowardice, but it was the only way to keep herself sane. The window might have been her only portal to the outside world but it brought with it years of longing that had grown into a minefield of treacherous thoughts which would only lead to a cycle of ever increasing loneliness and unhappiness.

Putting these thoughts to rest for the time being, the girl looked around the library. It was going to be several hours yet till evening when she could open the window again without fear of her own mind. There were few people out to observe and the soft swath of light and clouds made distancing her thoughts from her situation easier. But most exciting of all were her nightly observations of the stars. Unlike the earthbound astronomers who for millennium had to deal with bad weather as they turned their eyes upward, Elizabeth always had good weather. The light pollution left much to be desired, but she wasn't going to complain. The stars always seemed so free. It was an illusion of course, gravity and, most likely, other forces yet to be discovered dictated their actions but it was nice to dream. Till then, she would have to entertain herself. Her mouth twisted to the side as she weighed her options. A thought struck her and she skipped through the door to the lounge.

The room, like the library, was well furnished with a couch and more bookcases though this room had the added mess of torn canvas littering the floor. Old paintings split in twain, with the two parts never again to meet as they lay unnoticed and unmorned. Like the window in the previous room, the lounge was dominated by a massive mirror opposite the door. The walls were papered in a dark blue with golden flowers which worked beautifully with the rooms centerpiece: a nearly completed painting of the Eiffel Tower. As much as she wished the painting was original, the architecture book open to a photograph reminded her it wasn't. She had done her best to embellish the piece and make it her own with what she hoped were decent results. The dark blue sky was a bit too dark and the tower itself appeared to be leaning slightly, but Elizabeth was confident it could work for her purposes.

The girl pushed all the furniture against the walls and moved the painting half a meter away from the mirror. She took a quick measure of her reflection and straightened out the wrinkles in her black and white dress. Her bow had loosened slightly as well but a quick adjustment fixed that. Elizabeth had never been certain what to think about her appearance. She had read plenty of books on anatomy and had seen enough pictures to figure she was...aesthetically balanced but beyond that lack of human contact made these thoughts pointless. Despite this she took pride in her appearance as one of the few things she had any control over nonetheless.

Her thoughts cleared, she turned around, took a solid stance, and stretched both hands towards her painting. Her head started to throb but she ignored it. Just when the discomfort was morphing into an intense pain, a purple line appeared down the center of the Eiffel Tower. With a smirk Elizabeth shoved her hands through the narrow gap she had created and pulled the sides apart. Her pinkie stub spasmed incessantly and the pain in her head only got worse, but the job was almost done. With one final pull the two sides of the purple line flew apart, rapidly broadening into a circle. The painting had been torn in half, its pieces flung violently against the wall, but this didn't faze the girl. The now full grown tear stood in the center of the room free of any supports. Surprisingly, the sight she saw has nothing to do with the Eiffel Tower.

On the other side of the portal the ground abruptly shifted from her hard wood floor to a hard, grainy surface. Elizabeth felt it with her hand, its texture unlike any she had touched before. But it didn't hold her interest for long, a sight far more garish soon drew attention to her right. A building unlike any she had seen before brightly proclaimed the showing of "Revenge of the Jedi". The facade did not remind her of anything she had seen before. Perhaps it was a small theater or opera house on the outskirts of Paris? Her gaze swept the remainder of the vista before her, but the lights from the theater kept the surroundings in darkness, removing all clues to her location.

But the fact that the tear had not opened in a sewer or a crocodile infested moat was enough for Elizabeth, the strain of keeping the tear open was mounting and time was of the essence. She ran to the couch and picked up a small satchel of assorted items and, slinging it over her back, made a mad dash for the portal. Before she could cross over, Elizabeth's legs seized up and she fell flat on her face. But this reaction was expected and she pulled herself forward with her arms, gritting her teeth. Before she could even put a hand through the portal her arms failed her too, leaving her all but crippled. She knew what they wanted of her, but she took her time. After half a minute of starring through the portal which had, in essence, become the painting it was before, the girl closed her eyes and let the portal collapse. The moment the last traces of the tear had vanished from existence Elizabeth regained the use of her limbs. She pulled herself to her feet, as ever none the worse for wear, and dropped her satchel back on the couch. Or at least she would have if the smell coming from it hadn't hit her nostrils. She tried to remember when the last time was she had packed her escape supplies but decided it was a question best left unanswered. The food articles therein soon found themselves traveling down a waste disposal chute.

As she stumbled back to the library, Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to feel disappointed. Her efforts to escape always ended in a similar fashion. Either the tear opened to somewhere she was not desperate enough to go or, if the locale looked promising, she was physically prevented from escaping. And after every attempt, Elizabeth always asked herself why she bothered. And every time she asked herself that question, she knew the answer. Her wide reading in philosophy said many things, but one of the truths she always remembered is that man always desires freedom. To choose his own destiny. A person who accepts interminable slavery without any resistance has lost their humanity. As Elizabeth saw it, her escape attempts, no matter how futile, were her stake in the human experience she had never known for herself.

Whoever kept her here kept a close eye on her. The time of day made no difference. Her only hope was that she would make an attempt at the precise moment that her jailer would be distracted. These attempts had only become more difficult over the years. She remembered a time when she didn't need the painting to make an attempt at escape, but she had been too afraid of the unknown at that stage of life to flee her cage. Her powers had lessened since then, but if she had a clear enough image before her it was possible to create a tear that wasn't there before.

Nothing had changed in the library during the few minutes she had been absent. All the books were still in place, papers still on the floor, shutters still closed, and the loud droning sound of Songbird outside the window...that wasn't right. Songbird was many things, but his song was never like that. Her musing on the jailer she knew reminded her that the creature had yet to make his daily visit, an odd occurrence in itself. The machine worked like clockwork, never off on his arrival by more than a minute. The sound was growing louder and deeper by the second and curiosity over a precious new experience was enough to overcome her earlier reluctance to look through her window. A single flick of the switch later and the window was once again a portal to the outside world. None of the islands dancing below had moved noticeably, instead it was the blimp she had observed earlier that now caught her eye as it bore down on her tower. In fact, it looked like it would collide with the window.

Her heart racing, Elizabeth quickly shuttered the window again and ran towards her bedroom which was the farthest point from the library in her suite. Once there she flung herself into a corner and for several tense moments the only sound she could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the opposite corner of the room. The only thing she could feel was her pulse, it was as if every part of her body was its own heart acting in concert to pump her blood faster and faster. All she could do now was pray the large mirror wouldn't fall and spray glass all over the room. While the dread felt like it had lasted an eternity, the calm before the storm couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds.

With a roar that would have outmatched the concerted efforts of all the lions in Africa, the sound of bending metal and splintering wood rushed into her sanctuary. The sound was accompanied by a tremendous earthquake sending everything that wasn't nailed down flying. It was quite miraculous that Elizabeth managed to avoid being hit by any of the debris. Her clock toppled over, the figurines which marked the hours with dance speeding across the room as she always imagined bullets sounded. The bed started to slide in her direction but was stopped in its tracks by a fallen bookcase. Then, just as soon as it had started, the tremors stopped and everything was still. Elizabeth's breath came in shallow gulps as she surveyed the wreckage of her room. Despite nothing else being where it was a minute ago, the mirror was still in place. Curious. She was unsure of what to do now when a thought struck her. She was lucky enough to survive, but perhaps her jailers were not. Perhaps now she could somehow escape her cage.

Once she had extracted herself form the wreckage, Elizabeth edged along the walls of the corridor which connected her bedroom and the library. She stopped in her tracks when she heard a loud cough come from her destination. As silent as a ghost the girl crawled to the end of the hallway and peaked around the corner. The half of the room closer to the collision was in a shambles with books and furniture scattered like dust to the wind, the ground covered in glass shards and the air dim from the debris floating in it. A man was leaning against one of the bookcases absorbed in a coughing fit. He wore a rather odd assortment of clothes that placed him in the lower classes if the fashion books Elizabeth had perused were to be believed. A somewhat oversize green-black shirt hung off his broad shoulders, catching the frigid breeze flowing in from the gaping hole where her window was moments ago. Above the shirt he wore a lighter green vest covered in a tangled web of leather straps and compartments. Just now he was in the process of tightening a thick, woolen blue uniform round himself as a shield against the cold, or at least that was likely the reason given the rapidly decreasing temperature of the room, which a moment before had been worn like the cape of some English caviler from another era. That done, and his coughing fit subsiding as the air began to clear, the stranger began to scan the room, a small firearm in hand.

"Damn." He muttered. "Why are there shutters?" The man started to look under the fallen bookcases and behind overturned couches. "Elizabeth, if you can hear me, we have to go."

Elizabeth didn't move a muscle. A part of her urged her to get as far away as possible, but the more rational part pointed out that no matter where she hid in her small suite he would find her. Besides, it wasn't every day someone new broke through her window..or came at all. He knew her name...that in itself was odd. Did everyone out there know who she was? Did everyone know she had been locked up here for as long as she could remember? She had read enough to know that these kinds of situations had an infinite potential to go wrong, especially when they involved a man and woman alone, but her questions could only be answered one way. Elizabeth stood up, took a deep breath, and walked around the corner.

"Who are you? What do you want? Is it common in Columbia to greet people by flying zeppelins into their home?" She flung the questions at him with stunning rapidity.

"Name's Booker Dewitt and I'm a friend. I'm here to take you out of the tower. No, but I made an exception this once." The man shot back as he walked towards her, his eyes darting in every direction. "I'm sure you have a number of questions, but now really isn't the time. Once we're safely away you'll have all the time in the world to ask. We have a very small window of opportunity to leave in one piece."

"There used to be quite a large window."

The man...no...Mr. Dewitt stopped in his tracks , now about ten feet away, and stared at her, an odd look on his face. Elizabeth was a stranger to the art of reading emotions in others, the only reference point she had was staring at her own face in a mirror, but she would have guessed his look was somewhere between shock and...humor? She detected the slightest hints of a smile but, when combined with his intense, green eyed stare and the patchwork of bruises and scars on his face, it looked more like a grimace.

"Very funny. Now where's the door out?"

Elizabeth's jaw hung open as she sighed in resignation and despair." You came to rescue me in the tower I've been trapped in all my life and you ask _me_ how to get out?"

"No, I asked you where the door is." The man's tone softened as he continued. "I have the key." With a flourish Mr. Dewitt produced a key from his vest pocket and tossed it to her. "Ring any bells?"

Elizabeth surprised herself by catching the key, but that feeling was quickly drowned out by excitement at what she saw. The ornamental key had two pictures embossed upon it: an empty cage and a singing bird. With trembling step the girl ran towards the hall and the door she knew all to well. One that had haunted her from her earliest days. A large white thing of metal and gears with the symbols of the singing bird and the empty cage engraved on its surface. Elizabeth paused in front of her goal, the key in her hand feeling almost to precious to use, but the feeling soon passed as the mechanisms of the door game to life. It sounded like the door was several meters thick and all of it was moving parts that had to be aligned perfectly to leave.

"Just a suggestion..." Mr. Dewitt's voice startled the girl as it floated over her shoulder. "but I would take a moment to grab your favorite book. If the plan goes off you won't be returning no how this adventure ends."

"The plan, Mr. Dewitt? Isn't that to get me out in one piece?"

"That is _my_ goal, but the people downstairs have a far crazier plan in mind."

"That coming from the man who flew a blimp into..."

Elizabeth was interrupted by the sound of the door finally opening as it rose into the ceiling. Without a moments hesitation she darted out into the corridor beyond. It was very dark considering the intensity of light in the library. As soon as Mr. Dewitt had followed her through the door slammed closed, the sound of worrying metallic groans subsequently assaulting them from all directions. Almost instantly lights came on in the hallway, illuminating a narrow metal corridor with a scaffolding like wooden floor curving off to their left and right.

"Which way?"

"Go left. We should reach an elevator soon enough." He reached out a hand to pull her along but the girl was already sprinting down the hallway. After passing through several small rooms with shuttered windows and levers, the pair arrived at their target. Mr. Dewitt pushed a button to the side of the closed door then whirled around to face the direction they came from, gun in hand. On the wall to the left of the door was another set of lever and window, and with a mixture of curiosity and dread, she pulled. After a short delay the shutters rose, revealing...her bedroom. It was still in shambles, but that mattered little now.

"You really didn't need to see that." Mr. Dewitt's eyes had focused on the sudden motion but now they were wide and his hands hung at his sides.

"I knew they had to be watching me...but I didn't realize..." Elizabeth wasn't sure how she felt. The disturbing implications about her privacy, or obvious lack thereof, were bad enough and would likely float in the back of her mind for some time no matter how hard she tried to suppress them and the question of _why_ hung about her like a poisonous fog, but the fact was that for the first time in her life she was on this side of the looking glass. If Mr. Dewitt did what he promised she'd soon be free, free to see and experience all the things she had been denied.

"I don't suppose you know what I am, Mr Dewitt? Why I've been locked in here and observed my whole life?" The girl turned towards her benefactor, her eyes mistier than she would have liked.

The man had recovered from the shock of the sight and now had a distant look in his green eyes. "No." He tilted his head to look her in the eyes. "But what I do know is that you are getting out of here."

As if on cue the doors in front of the pair opened to reveal a small room furnished in faded red wallpaper. Elizabeth's countenance brightened as they stepped inside. "So this is an elevator. Curious." Her eyes wandered over the interior as the door closed and the elevator started to descend.

"I take it you haven't been in one?" The man asked casually as he checked his weapon.

"I've read about them but there wasn't call for one in a suite of rooms on the same floor."

"I suppose not." Mr. Dewitt ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sure you have some questions and I will do my best to answer them when we are safe, but this part is going to be crucial." He took Elizabeth's raised eyebrow as permission to continue. "The men I worked with intend to...remove your abode from the skyline."

"What?!"

"And they would have with you still in it if I weren't here. I signed on for this mission but never told them why I was really here. If they knew I came to get you out...well, I honestly don't know. But I see no reason to take any chances."

"Some allies."

"Most allies will only work with you to a point of common interest. Destroying the tower is that point. With you in it is theirs."

"Why? What did I do to them?"

"I can't say, but if I were to guess...I'd say it's cause you exist. Now..."

"Because I exist? I've never met them before! I've never met _anyone_ before!"

"Details like that don't matter to them. I think they see you as as much of a symbol as the tower."

"A symbol of what?"

The man simply shrugged in response.

Elizabeth leaned against the wall, her glazed glance pointed at the opposite corner. "It's hard to believe this is real. That you're real. I'm probably going to wake up any moment now over some novel of a dashing rescue from a dark castle."

"I have gone through far to much trouble for this to be _your_ dream."

"I...thank you."

Dewitt's gaze met her own, a profoundly sad look in his eyes. "Don't thank me yet." After a pause the corner of his mouth rose slightly. "You're welcome."

With a light ding the elevator doors opened to reveal a large, circular room with a ceiling that must have soared close to Elizabeth's suite drawing the eye inevitably towards a odd cylindrical contraption. The device glowed an odd shade of indigo and bolts of electricity leaped though the air, a faint smell of ozone and an imprint on the eye their only residue. The girl, her gaze still fastened above, began circling the contraption, barely aware of her surroundings. She felt drawn towards it with an almost physical compulsion. Until, that is, her foot hit an obstacle. I quick glance down was, perhaps in retrospect, not the best idea.

"What...is...that?" Elizabeth had to fight the bile rising in her throat with all her might at the sight. A body was sprawled on its back before her, the head sporting a rather sizable bullet hole. But there was something terribly wrong with the body once one looked past the obvious. Elizabeth would be the first to acknowledge that all her knowledge of human physiology came from books, some written decades earlier, but she had a hard time believing any human should have two mouths. And four eyes all staring emptily at her. In fact it looked like someone had taken two normal faces of wax and applied heat. Where one began and the other ended was now impossible to tell.

Mr. Dewitt had darted over to her, gun at the ready, when she released her cry of repulsion. Now his stare joined hers in complete mystification. "I can't say I've ever seen a gun that does that..." he reached down and closed the corps' eyes. His hand lingered on the face a few seconds longer before he stood up. "And from the feel of it he...or at least I'm guessing it was a he...has been like this for quite some time before his recent death."

It was a sensation that was hard to put into words. She knew she had been watched but the true extent and intrusiveness was a cold revelation. Now here she was nearly freed from her prison, just minutes away from leaving the tower she'd lived in all her life and on the threshold she was greeted by death in its simplest and purest form. Here she could not call upon the distance a book provided from the topic. She was horrified and disgusted by the sight and the smells that inevitably accompany corpses. But at the same moment there was a very different feeling, one that before she had only read of but never experienced. She felt...happiness over this man's gruesome demise. Mr. Dewitt's face showed he had never seen anyone like this before so he clearly worked in the tower which mean't he had taken part, directly or indirectly, in her imprisonment. Was this feeling natural? She had felt happy before when Songbird brought her a new book or some romance novel had a touching end, but never because someone had suffered. In every story she had read, people who took any amount of joy in death in whatever form it came were villains. What did that make her?

Mr. Dewitt turned to Elizabeth, a look of pity on his face, and put a comforting, but firm, hand on her shoulder. A hand which she reflexively pushed away. It took a moment for the girl's thoughts to catch up with her bodies reactions. "Sorry, I'm not used to people touching me."

"I see." Mr Dewitt looked away towards the door opposite the elevator. "And just how many people have you actually seen face to face before me?"

"I have memories from when I was young of a woman with red hair, but that is about all I can remember. Whoever she was I know she taught me enough to read and left Voxophones that taught me to speak properly. I learned most everything else from my library."

The man chuckled to himself and muttered just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. "That would explain a lot."

The girl crossed her arms and regarded the man with a suspicious look. "And just what would that explain, Mr. Dewitt?"

"A lot. Can we talk about that later? Now really isn't the time to argue the finer points of syntax."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes but followed close enough as the man pressed himself against the wall directly to the right of the door. He motioned for her to take the position mirroring his, a gesture silencing the questions pushing to be asked. She sighed and looked back towards the elevator, not entirely sure what they were listening for in the still air. After straining her ears for nearly half a minute she was able to hear something. A very faint sound but one that was growing louder by the second and all too familiar.

Alarmed, she turned towards her companion. "Mr. Dewitt! It's..." But found to her dismay that he had disappeared through the vestibule. A million worries were running back and forth through her head like dancing goblins from a fairy tale, but she quickly composed herself and followed her rescuer.

She found herself in another hallway which, compared to the previous space, was far less grand. No sweeping cathedral-esc ceiling or fascinating machine of unknown function. In fact, there was little decoration of any nature to be found. The wallpaper was peeling and the handful of paintings on the walls had seen better days. Likely better decades. Doors lined both sides of the thoroughfare; small, wooden things that looked like they barely hung on to their hinges. The first couple were labeled with what were most likely names and had clouded glass built into the center. One had a piece of paper attached with a series of unusual images featuring a mostly bald man with pointy hair thinking to himself.

As Elizabeth continued to walk down the hallway she encountered several doors made of metal built into metal walls. She halted in her tracks and spun around, glancing back to the point where the dilapidated walls abruptly transitioned into hard metal. The doors had small covered slits built in at several different levels, one of which was at just the right height for Elizabeth. Her curiosity got the better of her, though not before a great battle had been fought with the dread now brooding in the back of her mind, as she shifted the covering and peered inside.

As if sensing an observer, the lights inside sprung to life, illuminating a stark interior. In the center of the room was a single red chair with an attached footrest. Surrounding the seat like vultures was a seemingly endless array of tables covered in more types of medical tools than Elizabeth ever thought existed. Scalpels, saws, syringes, and other tools the girl had never seen a trace of in any of her books. Before she could process any of what she saw, the lights flickered and for the briefest of moments Elizabeth could see...herself in the chair, tightly strapped in and, by the looks of it, unconscious. The room was full of people, though all were faced towards the chair and thus away from the door. Some were taking notes but most appeared to just be watching the...procedure.

As soon as the vision appeared it was gone and Elizabeth recoiled from the door, the cover slamming shut. She knew she has seen something horrible, something that happened to her, but she had no memory of it and no explanation for how she could see it now. Her ear twitched and the sense of urgency that had first reared its head less than a minute ago returned in full force. Songbird was only getting closer. The feeling was only made stronger when the sound of what could only be a gunshot echoed from beyond the hallway.

Elizabeth ran at breakneck speed through several small antechambers whose furnishings reminded her of her suite's study. After passing through the last of these the space opened up significantly into a grand entrance hall. She had come out on a raised dais overlooking a second floor some ten feet below. Two elegant marble staircases hugged the walls as they sloped to either side of Elizabeth like arms preparing to embrace guests. The girl wished she had the time to stand there and admire the rich tapestries, including some that looked quite old, and dark velvet hangings on the walls. Or the picturesque marble statues that reposed in round recesses in the walls around the room's circular base that seemed to be laughing over some private joke. Or the...oh, right, she had to focus.

"Mr. Dewitt! What happened? Are you all right?" She almost tumbled down the stairs in her desperate rush but managed to retain her footing. As soon as she reached the lower area she dashed to the man's side. It was only then that she noticed the bodies. So many dead men and women lay on the floor. All were dressed in the same light blue uniform that her rescuer wore. Despite that it was obvious that the soldiers...for that is what they had to be...were not all on the same side. It was impossible to tell what the sides were or reasons for the bloodbath. Her eyes were drawn to the corpse at Mr. Dewitt's feet. The body's face was nowhere near as deformed as the body from the machine room, but it clearly wasn't entirely human either. He was completely bald, making the purple crystal growing from his head all the more obvious. He wore an eye patch and had a pistol clenched in his right hand which went well with the angry grimace on his face.

"Who is he?"

The man's eyes didn't move from his victim, his words like a thin strand of smoke on a breeze. "The last person standing in the way..."

A piercing screech filled the air, sending them both to their knees as they covered their ears in a desperate, and ultimately futile, attempt to preserve hearing. For all the pain, Elizabeth was able to realize Songbird was far above them, likely circling her rooms far above. "What now, Mr. Dewitt?"

"Now we leave and, if everything goes as planned, nobody will think you're alive."

The girl blanched. "What do you intend?"

The man didn't respond, his mind clearly preoccupied as he snatched her hand and made for the wooden doors opposite the grand staircase. He opened the door by just...walking into it and quickly took in his surrounding. They were...outside.

Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the symphony of sensations washing over her. She had never felt a breeze before, nor smelt fresh air, nor felt the unfiltered sun on her skin, nor...

She was snapped out of her endless discoveries by a sudden shove that send her sprawling on her back behind a bush planted just outside the door. Her stream of protests died on her lips when she heard her rescuer shout.

"Is everything set up?"

The reply came from a short, skinny woman with blonde hair who had just come into view. Her auburn hair was done up in a bun, though the silky strands now appeared to be staging an escape attempt. She held a dented blue helmet in one hand and was hurriedly wiping at the swaths of blood on her uniform with a handkerchief in the other. She snapped a quick salute, the soaked handkerchief leaving a streak of bright red on her brow. "Yes, sir. Charges are set at designated points outside and inside. We are ready to proceed at the commander's order."

"How many remain? The resistance looked tougher than anticipated."

The woman's expression darkened. "It was. We only have a handful of people in fighting shape. No more than ten."

"Their sacrifices will not be forgotten, sergeant." From her hiding spot Elizabeth couldn't help but think something was off about his voice, but her lack of experience could be a factor. The man spared a glance upward before continuing. "I don't know how long Songbird will be occupied. I hid the body in a hard to reach spot."

The woman's expression softened. "I know it had to be done considering what she's capable of, but it doesn't make it better. Poor thing never had a chance..."

"Don't listen to her, sir." One of the men interrupted. "The rest of us are happy to know you've dealt with the liability. We can't let her get away into the hands of the governor."

"Your enthusiasm is noted, corporal." Mr. Dewitt scowled and raised his voice. "Fall in and prepare to depart. Is the escape craft prepped?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." The ten remaining men and women were now lined up in two rows of five in front of Mr. Dewitt,. They all bore the marks of battle. A bandaged arm here, a makeshift eye-patch there. One woman was doing her best to staunch the bleeding from her shattered leg. Despite all this they looked...happy wasn't really the right word, Elizabeth thought, satisfied perhaps? "It has been a pleasure working with you all. Whatever happens, know this: the resistance honors your sacrifices." In a fraction of a second, one of Mr Dewitt's hands...sprouted feathers...and, with a flick of the wrist, sent a cackling horde of...crows by the looks of it...at the soldiers. They were caught completely off guard as the feathered horrors pecked at their eyes and ears, rendering them completely helpless. A few almost managed to bring their guns to bear on their betrayer before they were roasted alive by ball of fire originating from Mr. Dewitt's other hand. In less time than it takes to tell, the soldiers, or what was left of them, were dead, their bodies burned beyond recognition and much of their skin eaten away.

As Elizabeth struggled to process what she had just seen. The stench of the smoldering corpses was overwhelming and unlike anything she had ever experienced. Even after traveling through the battlefield in the tower foyer minutes ago she was hardly prepared. Seeing bodies, even fresh ones, was a far cry from seeing someone die...from watching the light fade from their eyes. And the screams...the sound was unspeakable. Elizabeth tried in vain to think of anything in her life that could relate to what she'd heard. And then there was _him_. Mr. Dewitt. Who was now engaged with rifling through the bodies, seemingly immune to the sight of the carnage he had just unleashed. A moment later he held aloft a small cylinder and started twirling it in his fingers.

The girl had no idea what to do now. She new that she couldn't stay where she was. Songbird was still on the prowl and, if what that monster had said was true, her tower would soon be destroyed. A small part of her whispered that she should take this opportunity to just let her life go and die with the remains of her home but she quickly pushed that voice aside. Not that the man was likely to allow her to stay anyways. Perhaps she could collect a gun from one of the corpses and shoot him when he was caught off guard? If she timed it right she might escape to the city on her own and take her own path. Whatever she decided, Elizabeth couldn't dredge up any desire to travel with her rescuer.

Realizing she couldn't stay behind the bush forever, Elizabeth rose to confront the fiend. "What. Did. You. Do? Why did you kill those people? Who are they?"

"Killed them, they would have killed you, dead men and women." Before the girl could fling any more inquiries his way he grabbed her arm and tried to run towards the open gates that lead out of the tower courtyard towards the city, and world, beyond. This action was currently impossible as Elizabeth was digging in her heals and desperately trying to free herself from the man's iron grasp. With a role of his eyes he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. It took her a second to realize what had happened, but even then her efforts to break free were ineffective. The moment the pair passed through the gates, Mr. Dewitt threw away the cylindrical device and broke into a jog.

Elizabeth looked up from her awkward positions to see they were passing through a decently size courtyard. It was mostly empty save for a few booths and...more corpses. She hadn't noticed it before, but the gates had clearly not been opened naturally. Before she could draw any conclusions, her tower caught her eye. Numberless emotions passed through her mind as she took in the sights of her home that she had never seen. How odd to see now that she had lived her entire life in a statue of an angle. A golden statue no less, gleaming in the light of the setting sun. The girl had to shield her eyes from the harsh refraction. The figure stood straight, its arms held aloft, the fingers appearing to grasp at the void above, in what looked like a placating gesture. Its gaze also looked to the heaven's as if waiting for a true angle to come from on high. Oddly enough its expression, or what little could be seen from the ground, looked more determined than anything else. It was hard to tell for certain with the smoking airship sticking out of its eye. If she really squinted she could just make out the form of Songbird tearing its way through her suite of rooms. The statue's wings were huge and looked...quite ridiculous. The over-sized feathery appendages swept down to the figures waist before curving up again at the tips. It was odd to think that in all her books on Columbia she had never found any reference to the structure she lived in. Sure she knew it was a tall building, but now to see it was a grand statue...the absence was obviously deliberate.

Further contemplation on her former abode was rendered impossible when she felt herself dumped to the ground. She quickly picked herself up, ready to make another attempt at freedom, but promptly found herself back on the ground when it started to move underneath her. A quick glance around told Elizabeth she was on one of the small skiffs she frequently saw skirting the skies, this one a bright blue color. The courtyard, and her tower, were drawing farther away. Without warning a number of bright flashes flickered at the statue's base sending chunks of material flying in all directions. Large cracks started to snake in all directions forming a spiderweb of instability. It was quickly becoming apparent that, no matter how grandiose the statue was, it was very precariously balanced. The gilded structure started to lean backwards as the weight of the wings exerted its influence.

A harsh cry drew her eyes upwards just in time to see the blimp Mr. Dewitt had arrived in combust in a most spectacular fashion. The statues head, and, Elizabeth realized, everything she had ever known, was shattered like a crystal ball. Shards flew in all directions with speeds far greater than the girl would have anticipated. Some of the heavier fragments looked like they would soon sink beneath the city but some of the smaller ones were on a collision course with some nearby houses. The piteous screech that had first drawn her attention sounded forth again as its creator came into view. Songbird had somehow survived the explosion though much the worse for wear. One of its wings was clearly torn beyond use and both the feet were missing. Despite all of this Elizabeth would have sworn the creature was still looking for her, its head whipping back and forth, desperate for any sign she had survived. Years ago she would have felt sorry for it, even now she couldn't bring herself to outright hate Songbird, but she certainly wouldn't lose any sleep when the creature was no more. No, there were plenty of things that would haunt her dreams for some time, but this was definitely not one of them.

By now all but a few shards of the statue's base had broken off and were making their way Earthwards. After falling around a couple thousand feet, the entire thing evaporated in a shower of purple sparks, briefly illuminating a shimmer spherical shield that appeared to cover a vast portion of the city's underbelly. The sheer power required to do something like that had to be beyond compare. A sudden movement directly above caught her eye and a quick glance showed it to be a grainy balloon carrying a machine gun floating ethereally in the air. Her eyes widened as she felt a familiar tingle in her pinkie and a tug at the corners of her mind. Sensations she had not experienced independent of her own efforts in years.

Her rescuer's voice snapped her out of her contemplation. The man stood on the opposite side of the air-tug, his attention also focused on the sight. "And that is why I decided against parachutes."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and leaned against the cabin wall behind him. "Well, now that you've taken me from my home and destroyed any traces of it and anybody else we encountered, care to explain where you are taking me?"

Mr. Dewitt didn't turn to look at her. He muttered something before speaking up. "My employer. Someone willing to pay a great deal of money to see you out of your tower safe and sound with everybody else certain you were dead. He'll want to see you before I can get paid."

"And who would that be?"

"How familiar are you with the leaders around here?" He continued when she shrugged in reply. "I was hired by an older man. Big white beard, runs most of the churches around here."

"Are you planning on giving his name or not?"

He gave her a long, sad, almost pleading look. "Father...Comstock."

* * *

><p><strong>End Notes<strong>

* * *

><p>Dun. Dun. Dun.<p>

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this first foray of mine into the fantastical world of Infinite. I'm not sure when I will get to posting the next chapter seeing how long I have spent fiddling with this one, but I do have plans for story so it shouldn't be tooooo long.

Second, for those of you who follow my TD story, fear not it is still underway. After playing Infinite I realized I had to many ideas floating around in my head that had to be put down on paper before I could continue the other work. The next chapter is over two-thirds done at this point and I know you guys will like it when I finish it.

As always, please leave your comments. I can only get better from hearing your feedback.


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